


where does it hurt? everywhere.

by professortennant



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Implied Sam and Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15146555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professortennant/pseuds/professortennant
Summary: Sam is thirty-five when she lays on the ship, blood streaming from her face and head pounding and body aching. Her father’s hands are in her hair and his watchful eyes are focused on her.“Where does it hurt?”She thinks of being cradled by him as a child reaching for the stars and smiles softly, completing the phrase that’s become a staple of their relationship.“Everywhere.”





	where does it hurt? everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the exchange between Sam and Jacob in Evolution Pt 2 (S7) on the ship after Sam is attacked by the super soldier.

Sam is eight years old when Ollie in Mrs. Landingham’s science class said if she swung high enough and jumped, she could touch the stars. It doesn’t sound right to her; if it was that easy, everyone would be launching themselves into the solar system.

But she wants so, so badly to touch the stars.

So after her mother and father have tucked her into bed and the house goes quiet, she sneaks out in the middle of the night, tiptoeing and steadying her breathing. She doesn’t want her parents to stop her; the stars and the moon and the burning brightness of Jupiter are calling to her. 

In the backyard, she climbs into the swing-set and pumps her legs as hard as she can--back and forth and back and forth, swinging and swinging. And at the height of her swing, when the cool night air whips through her hair and her head is tipped back at the inky black of the sky, she leaps for the stars, hand outstretched. 

For a second, it feels like she’s going to make it and her heart is pounding in her chest and the moon is smiling at her and the stars are within reach and then—

Then she’s screaming, her body hitting the ground with a hard thud and her arm and wrist snapping audibly. There’s barely a few minutes time that pass before Jacob rushes outside, frantic and terrified. He gathers his daughter in his arms and cradles Sam’s body, hands searching for injury and gentle fingers brushing softly over her arm and wrist. “Sammy? Sammy, what’s wrong? Where does it hurt?”

She sobs through her tears, disappointment and pain and humiliation compounding the emotions. She pushes her head against his body, hoping to bury her face in her father’s chest. “Everywhere,” she hiccups. “It hurts everywhere.” He kisses her head and scoops her up and takes her inside to get his car keys. She needs the emergency room. 

“That’s okay, kiddo. Daddy’s gonna make it all better. It’s not gonna hurt anymore.”

* * *

 

Sam is fifteen and her mother has just died. She hates her father a little and she blames him if she thinks about it hard enough. Their house is filled with people who knew her mother--knew how she smiled easily and how she loved to bake cookies and how she had a hug ready for everyone or a swift kick in the pants if they needed it. 

She escapes the wake and climbs the stairs, needing air--maybe a quick trip to the roof, to be closer to space and the stars that still call to her. She finds her father in the room he shared with his wife, her mother. His head is bowed and his eyes are closed. 

She detours from the roof and sits beside him on the bed, silence and grief filling the room. Sam can’t remember the last time she’s talked--really talked--to her father. 

“Where does it hurt?” she asks, a memory of swings and stars and broken arms coming to mind. But her heart is breaking, her bones are tired, and her soul aches.  _She_  hurts everywhere and her mom will never be there to kiss it better. 

“Everywhere,” her father answers, voice hoarse.

 _Good,_  she thinks viciously. She is in pain and she is grieving and it is somehow right that he feel this with her, too. 

* * *

 

Sam is eighteen and finishing up her first week at bootcamp. It’s been a week of early wake up calls and timed mile runs and weight lifting and push-ups. She’s been pushed to her physical limits and she hasn’t slept a full night’s sleep in days. But this is what she needs to do to get to where she wants to go.

Her father calls her on the last day. She hesitates before picking up the phone. “Hi, dad,” she greets. 

“Hey, kiddo.” She groans as she stands to attention at the sound of his voice and he chuckles, a sound she has forgotten. 

“Where does it hurt?” he asks knowingly. 

She wants to tell him everywhere; every joint, every muscle, every tendon. But she won’t give him the satisfaction. Her father already expects so much of her, expects her to race through bootcamp and the academy and be on the next shuttle to Mars.

 She won’t tell him that she’s struggling; that she’s hurting.

Inhale. “Nothing hurts.” Exhale.

On the other end of the line, Jacob is both proud and sad. His little girl is now a soldier. His little girl is now like him. He never wanted that for her.

* * *

 

Sam is twenty-eight when she sits at his bedside. He is attached to wires and IVs and chemicals drip into him, trying to stop the inevitable: He is dying. Cancer’s a real bitch and he knows he’s leaving the world too soon. He looks at Sam, his little girl who just wanted the stars, and sighs. Breathing hurts and he shifts uncomfortably, wincing. 

“Where does it hurt?” Sam asks, fretful and eyes shining with tears. She’s not ready to lose him; even if their relationship  _is_  strained.

Jacob thinks about the loss of his wife and the subsequent breaking of his family. He thinks of Mark who hasn’t spoken to him in years and of Sam who still hasn’t gotten her dream yet. 

 He thinks of dying and leaving behind an unfinished legacy.

“Everywhere,” he says softly. “It hurts everywhere.”

* * *

 

Sam is thirty-five when she lays on the ship, blood streaming from her face and head pounding and body aching. Her father’s hands are in her hair and his watchful eyes are focused on her.

“Where does it hurt?” 

She thinks of being cradled by him as a child reaching for the stars and smiles softly, completing the phrase that’s become a staple of their relationship.

“Everywhere.”

* * *

 

Sam is thirty-six when she sits beside his bedside once more. He is dying—truly this time. 

She slips her hand into his and tries to be strong, tries to focus on the good memories: her father sneaking her chocolate before dinner when her mother wasn’t looking; holding her high on his shoulders during Fourth of July celebrations so she could see the fireworks (or, as she once called them, exploding stars). She thinks about the first time he helped her fix her motorcycle and showed her how to use a monkey wrench. 

She thinks about what her father has taught her and then she thinks about how much more he has to teach her and how she will never get that chance--how  _he_  will never have that chance.

Jacob squeezes her hand and shakes her from her thoughts. His breath comes out like a wheeze and he grins through the pain anyway. 

“Where does it hurt?”

She laughs and cries and wipes her tears. “Isn’t that my line?”

He shrugs. “Tell me anyway.”

 Sam’s face crumples and she bows her head and whispers out. “Everywhere.” His hand covers her head and strokes her hair. 

“Me too, kiddo.”

* * *

 

Hours later, Sam’s father is gone and there is no one left to ask her if she’s hurting, no one to tell her it’s okay, no one to remind her that pain everywhere is a sign of life everywhere. She’s fragile and breaking and lost and then— 

“Carter?”

Jack is there. He takes his place beside her and wraps an arm around her shoulders and holds her, thumb stroking her upper arm and he is the warm presence holding her up. 

“Where does it hurt?”

She doesn’t know how he knows to ask--maybe Jacob told him, maybe he overheard it, maybe he just knows the manifestation of physical pain. 

She turns and curls in his arms, face pressed into his chest and ear over his heart. The steady  _thump-thump_  of life beneath her ear, the scent of him, the feel of him soothes her. Her tears soak his shirt and she thinks where it hurts. 

“Everywhere,” she chokes out.

Jack kisses the side of her head and tightens his hold on her. 

“Yeah,” he sighs out, emotions heavy. “I think it’s supposed to, Carter.”

He holds her while she hurts and she loves him even more. With each  _thump-thump_  of his heart, with each stroke of his thumb against her skin, with each reverent kiss to the top of her head, she feels the pain recede.

She is going to be okay.


End file.
